


Broken Doll

by amy_vic



Category: Without a Trace
Genre: F/M, Self-Harm, abusive childhood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-04
Updated: 2010-03-04
Packaged: 2017-10-07 17:25:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/67403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amy_vic/pseuds/amy_vic





	Broken Doll

Samantha gets up and makes her way to the front door, realizing that whoever's there isn't going away. Throwing the door open, she is about to tell them to fuck off and leave her alone, until she sees who it is.

"Danny, why are- I mean, what's going on?" she asks, not moving from her place by the door.

Danny gives her a quick look. Whatever she and Jack were arguing about must have been pretty serious; it looks like she's still ready for the fight.

"I've been out here knocking for almost half an hour, and I've called you twice. What the hell is going on?" He is demanding an answer, but only to hide his relief. Those last few minutes staring at her door were full of very dark thoughts. Thoughts of having to break down the door; having to call Jack and explain it to him.

Samantha doesn't look him in the eye. "I was in the shower. I couldn't hear anything."

"Your hair isn't wet." He raises an eyebrow.

"Ever hear of a hairdryer?" she snaps. Instantly, she regrets it. "Sorry, I'm a little wound right now."

Danny shakes his head slightly. "It's okay. I was just getting a little worried. When you left the office, you seemed kind of pissed. I wanted to see how you're doing." He looks at her expectantly, but Samantha doesn't answer. She only drops her arm from the doorframe and turns away, leaving Danny standing alone in the hallway. He takes this as an invitation and moves inside, shutting the door behind him.

"Listen, Samantha, about tonight, I'm sure Jack didn't mean it like that-" Danny stops suddenly when he catches sight of her face, reflected in a framed print on the wall.

Tears are running down her face, but she isn't making a sound. He reaches out to touch her arm, but she pulls away so quickly it leaves him stunned. Samantha has never acted like this toward him.

The only other time he's even seen her cry was that night after she'd gone back to Carol Miller's, and that had been very different. That night, Samantha had somehow decided that what she needed was to go out and get as drunk as possible, as quickly as she could. She'd called Danny, and pleaded with him to join her. He'd gone only because he didn't want her to be alone, upset as she was. He stayed sober while she drank more than enough for the both of them.

Three and a half hours, four bars, and far too many drinks later, Danny had managed to get her back to her apartment. Once inside, after she had staggered out of the bathroom, she'd spent the next hour crying into a cup of coffee, blaming herself for Annie's abduction and her death. Somehow, he'd managed to get Samantha to take a couple aspirin, and put her to bed.

She'd woken up the next morning remembering nothing, and confused when she found Danny in the kitchen, making her breakfast. He'd called her in sick to work, telling Jack that Samantha had a migraine, and that she'd try to make it into the office before noon.

Jack hadn't questioned it; when Danny saw him later, he realized why. Jack appeared to have had much the same night as Samantha, although Jack most likely spent his evening with a bottle of Scotch instead of the Irish Car Bombs that Samantha had pounded back with frightening speed.

"Please, just stop, okay? You don't understand," Samantha wipes her eyes with her sleeve. She really doesn't want to break down in front of Danny, regardless of the fact that she knows it wouldn't matter. Danny has a remarkable knack for knowing when to keep quiet.

"What's going on?" he asks, trying to keep his voice steady. She's starting to worry him, being like this. Instead of answering, Samantha goes into the kitchen. Her coat is over the back of a chair, same as always, but this time she's pulling something from the pocket. It's so small that Danny isn't even sure what it is until Samantha tosses it to him. Looking closer, Danny realizes that this cassette tape came from in-house. There's going to be a lot more questions later on.

"Jack doesn't really have anything to do with this; it's all me," Samantha says, bitterly. Danny gives her a questioning look, and she shakes her head. The only thing Danny can do is set the recorder on the table and press play.

~~~~~

Jack, Samantha, Danny and Martin can be heard discussing the latest case, out in the main room. 17-year-old Rebecca Jackson had gone missing the previous night. Both her parents said that Rebecca had gone to bed around 11, after going to a movie with a couple of her friends. The next morning, she was gone. The sounds are slightly muffled, given the distance, but suddenly, Jack's voice resounds through the room; luckily, it's late and they are the only ones still here.

"Samantha, would you give that up? Her mother doesn't know anything about it. Just give it a rest!"

"Fine, Jack, we'll just let her die. Is that what you want?"

Danny knows what happened next. Samantha had stood up so fast, her chair had spun away from the table, and she had stalked off into an empty interview room. After a moment of stunned silence, Jack had followed her. Martin and Danny could only sit and try to stay focused on the case.

Now the audio from the interrogation room is clearer, picking up on Samantha's muttered curses and angry, ragged breathing. A tentative knock on the glass door.

"Sam?"

"I'm fine." Her voice wavers slightly, and she knows Jack will never believe her.

"What's going on?"

"I'll be back out in a minute, okay?"

"No, you won't. Take the rest of the night off, get some sleep."

"I said I'm fine. I just need a minute, okay?"

There is an audible click as the door is closed. Danny had looked up from the papers in front of him just in time to see the last of the blinds being lowered.

"What's going on with you tonight"

"I'm...I'm fine, really. Could you just give me a few minutes, please?"

"No."

"Jesus, Jack. I said I'm fine. I'll be right out, but will you just leave me alone for two seconds?"

"Stop trying to bullshit me, Samantha. You know it won't work, and it's starting to piss me off."

"Jack, I-"

"I don't want to hear it. You are clearly not fine. Arguing with us because you disagree on how the case should be handled will not find this girl, and you know that. Now, what's wrong?"

The only response Jack gets is silence.

"Sam?"

"Her father's been beating her. That's why she took off."

Ssilence fills the room.

"Sam, you were with me; we talked to both her parents. Nothing they said even hinted at abuse, or-"

"This isn't about what they said." Samantha says this quietly, almost to herself.

"What?"

"What did you see when we talked to Rebecca's parents?"

"I'm not sure I know where you're going with this."

"Okay. Fine. Want to know what I saw?"

There is silence again, and Danny can only guess that Jack has gestured for Sam to continue.

"I saw Rebecca's father deny knowing where she is because he honestly doesn't know. I also saw her mother deny knowing where Rebecca might be, because she _does_ know. Her mother doesn't want Rebecca coming home because they all know what will happen if she does."

"Sam-"

"Please let me finish, Jack. It was the look in her eyes that gave it away. That look that said 'I want to know my little girl is safe, but I don't want her coming back so she can be Daddy's little punching bag'. That look that said 'I'll go back to being his punching bag, just as long as she isn't'.

"You don't know that he's abusing either one of them."

"Don't I?" Sound of a zipper and a dull thud.

In the living room, Danny raises an eyebrow. Samantha reaches over and stops the tape. Pulls the sock off her right foot, props her heel on the edge of the glass coffee table. A crescent-shaped scar about four inches long snakes its way up and around Samantha's ankle. Without a word, she re-starts the tape, letting it tell the story.

"Are you telling me that...?"

"Do you know how I got this, Jack? Take a good look. This is how it looks like after they clean out all the little bits of concrete with a paintbrush, and then spend a couple hours putting a little steel rod in there, just so you'll be able to walk properly without a cane. This is what happens when you wear the wrong shirt on your way out to dinner for your 15th birthday."

Her voice breaks then, and in an attempt to cover it, Samantha raises her voice, angrily.

"Want to see something else, Jack? You're gonna love this one."

A sound like tiny pebbles being scattered on the floor.

"This is what happens when you can't take it anymore. This is what you do, after the pills don't work. This is why you start wearing your watch on the other arm; just so you don't have to be reminded of how big a failure you are whenever you check the time."

"Now, Jack, you tell me I don't know what's going on. Go ahead. You sit there and you tell me I haven't got any idea what he's done to his daughter. Tell me how he's never slammed her into a wall so hard all the pictures fell down, and then gone up to her room later to tell her how sorry he is, and that it won't happen again. Tell me that she's never lied to all her teachers, saying she crashed her older brother's dirtbike, that's how she really broke her jaw and sprained her wrist. Tell me how she says yes to the best-looking guy in her class, even though she doesn't really like him, because she's afraid of how he'll react if she turns him down. How nearly every night, she hears about how her father's having trouble at work, and he just gets so angry sometimes, it isn't her fault, and she knows that, right, sweetheart? Go ahead, Jack. _Tell me_."

"Sam-"

"Come on, Jack. You can tell me that, can't you?"

Once more, silence envelops the room. When Jack finally speaks, it sounds as if he is fighting to keep his own emotions in check.

"Why didn't you tell me this before, Sam?"

A half-chuckle.

"What, you didn't like the dirtbike story I told you? Or weren't you listening? I mean, I know we were in bed at the time-"

"That wasn't what I meant."

"I'm sorry. I just..." Samantha trails off, her words replaced by tears. The sound of movement on the leather couch, a muffled cry. "Please, don't touch me, Jack. Just...don't."

Samantha reaches out suddenly, stopping the tape. Danny glances over at her and finds that she's crying again, not bothering to hide it this time. She catches his eye and stands up, staring out the window, because she'd rather not face him right now.

"There's, uh, a little bit more on there, but it isn't really...relevant." She's wiping her eyes with her sleeve again; trying to fool him into thinking she's okay. They remain still for some time: Danny sitting on the couch, staring at his hands; Samantha looking out at the lights of the city. Danny is the first to break the silence.

"I'm sorry."

Samantha doesn't say anything, only turns to face him with a dazed expression.

"I know that probably doesn't mean anything now, but I really am sorry. You never should've had to go through that."

She smiles a little and shakes her head sadly. "I know."

~~~~~~

She hadn't meant to cry out the way she did.

But she had, and now the look on Jack's face is enough to shatter her.

"Why did you lie to me about this?"

"Because, I-it's what I tell everyone," she replies, staring intently at her hands.

"I wish you'd told me before."

"Before what? Before we started sleeping together? Not a chance." Samantha looks up then, and finds that Jack is staring at her like he's never seen her before.

"Why not?" He should have known; he should have seen this earlier. Some profiler he was. Didn't even know his own team.

So many times, he'd watched as she pulled her gun faster than everyone else. All the times she'd tackled suspects before he'd even gotten out of the car. The way she reacted on certain cases. He should have realized something wasn't right. He should have seen this that first day she walked in to his office, acting as though nothing could touch her.

She should have told him.

"Would it have made a difference, Jack? Really, would knowing that I got the shit kicked out of me nearly every day until I turned 17- would it have changed anything?"

"For me, no. But it might have changed you," he states quietly.

Samantha doesn't say anything, only picking up her boot from where it dropped and zipping it back on.

"You can try as hard as you want, you can lie to whoever you want, but you're still the same scared girl you were then. You haven't changed; you've just gotten better at hiding it."

Samantha still doesn't look at him, but gives a rueful little laugh.

"Congratulations, Jack, you figured it out. Are you proud of yourself?"

"No. I'm proud of you."

This hushed statement causes her to finally look at him. The conflict in her eyes is unmistakable. She isn't sure whether to lie to him again, or tell him the entire truth.

"I- you know what? I'm not sure we should be having this conversation now-- not here." She sounds fine, but she looks worried. Luckily, the only security cameras on this floor are next to the elevators and stairwells.

They both stand. Samantha moves for the door, and Jack puts a hand lightly on her shoulder to stop her. She doesn't flinch.

Leaning towards her, he speaks quietly into her ear. "Just go down to A/V, and get the tape. There aren't time-codes, so as long as you switch a new tape in, it will be fine."

Nodding, she steps back from him, turning towards the closed door. "If you're up for it, you can stop by later. I'll tell you everything else you need to know."  
With her hand on the doorknob, she pauses, tilting her head to one side as if listening for something. Then, without warning, she turns back and allows herself to be pulled into the unexpected hug.

In those seconds, Samantha lets her guard down completely, and they both know it.

Safely within his arms, she turns to whisper two words that the security tape will never pick up. After he releases her, somewhat reluctantly, she turns to leave again. This time, the relief in her eyes speaks volumes.

_Thank you._

~~~~~

"Jack?"

"Hmm?" He is tracing lazy circles on her bare back, running his fingers over the tiny, pale scars that mark her skin.

"Are you mad at me?" She can't help sounding a little scared.

Now Jack pulls back from her, just enough to see her face. It isn't the same worried, confused look she had an hour ago, but it's close.

"Of course not, Sam. Why would you think I was mad at you?"

"Well, I mean, this is..." She gestures in a wide arc. Most of the apartment now resembles the wake of a tornado. Clothing has landed in haphazard piles starting out from near the living room, Jack's cell phone has fallen off his belt somewhere before the bathroom, the bedside lamp is in a half a dozen pieces, and the closet doorknob is dangling by one precarious screw.

She'd never meant for this to happen. They had been sitting in the kitchen; she was telling him about the time in the seventh grade when she'd shown up to school with a black eye. Her best friend had covered for her, telling the teacher they'd gotten in a fight over some boy. The look on Jack's face had become too much, and she was desperate for him to stop looking at her like that. She'd leaned over then, kissing him with such ferocity it left them both breathless. She couldn't explain why she'd done that, instead of perhaps just saying something. If he had any insight to her motives, he made no move to object.

"My back hasn't been this scraped up since the razor wire on Fort Benning's obstacle course, but..." Jack chuckles softly, and then says quietly, "No, Samantha. I could never be mad at you for something like this."

"Why not?"

Samantha pulls away from him then, tugging the sheet up from the end of the bed and wrapping it tightly around her body. Jack makes no move toward her.

"Why do think I'd be mad at you, Sam?"

She won't look at him, and he can't begin to imagine what she must be thinking.

"Because I shouldn't have done this to you. We shouldn't be here. This isn't-"

"Sam, don't say things like that."

She turns to him then, her eyes blazing. "Why not? It's the truth. You shouldn't be here with me; you're supposed to be at home, with your wife. You should be tucking Hanna and Kate into their beds right now, not lying here in mine. "

Jack sighs. "Sam, listen to me for a minute, okay? You need to realize that all you've just done is taken all your anger and frustration out on me. You needed some way to let everything go, and I was around." He stares down at the space between them for a moment before speaking again. "Stop punishing yourself for all this."

"I'm not punishing myself for anything," she snaps back. "What, you think that all this is just me punishing myself? No, Jack, you're wrong."

"Then what is this about, Sam?" Jack asks.

She stands up quickly, carefully moving aside pieces of the shattered lamp as she walks to the window. Staring out, she realizes that nothing makes much sense anymore. Her life appears to be lying in ruins at her feet, and she has very little idea how it got there.

"I'm not sure, Jack. I really don't know-" she whispers helplessly, hoping maybe he won't hear it. Then she catches sight of his reflection in the window. He did hear.

"Sam, can you do something for me? Come over here, get back into bed, and try to stop being so angry with yourself. Even if it's just for five minutes, can you try?"

She stands there for a moment, much like a defiant child, handfuls of sheet in her clenched fists. Slowly, she relents and sits on the edge of the bed. Jack places an arm on her shoulder and gently pulls her down to the mattress. She doesn't object.

They remain still for a few minutes, neither of them speaking. Finally, Jack feels Sam relax into his arms, resting her head against his shoulder. Once she does, Jack speaks.

"Will you tell me what happened to your ankle?" He tries to keep his voice steady, hoping she can't tell how rattled he really is. He can't imagine her ever being vulnerable enough to allow someone to hurt her so badly. The Samantha he knows would never put up with it.

"He shoved me back towards the door, and my ankle smashed into the bottom step," she replies sleepily. For the first time in days, possibly weeks, she realizes just how exhausted she is. It's been far too long since she had a decent night's sleep.

"What about your jaw? Was that the same night?" he asks quietly, as he rubs her shoulder.

She doesn't answer right anyway. Instead, she runs a hand through her hair, managing only to mess it up further.

"No, it was later," she replies, her voice catching. "Remember when I told you I ran away when I was 17? That was why. My father, he came home one night, and we got into- all I wanted was to borrow the car that weekend. It was prom, and-" She chokes on a sob then, and it is a moment before she continues. "He ended his side of the argument by shoving me. It would have been okay, except that I was at the top of the stairs, and I-I fell."

Jack is stunned. He can't ever imagine how someone could inflict such pain on her. When he speaks, he can only manage a whisper. "Jesus, Sam, you-he could have broken your neck."

She doesn't seem to hear him. "I caught the second-to-last step, and there was this awful sound. At first, it didn't register, because it sounded just like when you break a tree branch over your knee, you know? And then, then the pain kicked in, and I'd bit through my lip, god, there was so much blood on the carpet-" Her voice fades out as she stares blankly at the opposite wall.

All these things she swore she'd never tell anyone, spoken aloud. After all these years, the relief of finally telling someone the truth is causing her chest to ache. Or maybe it's the memory of it all.

Either way, it still hurts.


End file.
